Comforts of Faith
by EssexDragon
Summary: When faced with a win or lose struggle, who does Harry Potter turn to for comfort? Disclaimer: obviously I dont own the characters....


Comforts of Faith

Heat. Dry. It's been that way for more then a week. It's slightly cooler at night, for which the entire family is thankful. The Weasley family is sleeping, dreaming of things long since past and things yet to come. In one room the Cannons are winning the Quidditch World Cup for the third time in a row, while, in a room one level up, the wedding between a certain black haired, green eyed boy and a certain Weasley girl is taking place. The twins dreams are full of explosions and mayhem, conveying that ever-present sense of chaos even while asleep. Everyone's dreams are free of troubles for one peaceful night.

Except one. He doesn't sleep much anymore, and it shows. He has bags under his eyes and a wild, hunted look. The few times he manages to get a few hours rest, he always wishes he hadn't for his dreams are filled with more death then anyone should have to contain in his mind.

He can feel it coming. It's building to a head. The air crackles with….something. Magic, destiny, fate, call it what you will, but it's reached the breaking point and he knows that within weeks, perhaps days, he and the other will fight for the last time.

He drifts downstairs to the couch in the living room of the burrow and drops before the fireplace. There is no fire, of course, for that would be adding insult to injury in this repressive heat, and even if there had been, it would have long since died to embers at this late hour.

The only illumination is that of the full moon through the open window. A summer breeze occasionally riffles the pages of the book lying on the table nearby. It had been Hermione's gift to him for his birthday a few days earlier. A copy of the King James Bible. She had been disappointed by his rather unenthusiastic acceptance of the gift, but he had promised to read it, mostly to make her feel better. She seemed to feel he would find comfort within its pages. Right. Comfort. He was no theologian but he was pretty sure there was a rule about not killing in there. And that was if things went well. If they didn't…well…he was trying very hard not to think about that.

He rocks back and forth for a while, staring at nothing. After some time he starts at a noise, only to find the noise is the sound of himself humming. Funny, he can't remember when he started. He supposes he should get back to bed, but he can't bring himself to confront the terrors just yet. He looks over at the bible on the table and debates with himself for a moment. Then, almost in spite of himself, he comes to his decision. He slowly, awkwardly drops to his knees in the position he was taught those few times the Dursleys let him attend services.

And he prays. "Go-" His voice cracks. He clears his throat nervously. "God? I hope You're listening. It's Harry. Harry Potter. I heard someone say once You were always listening. I hope so because I feel silly, but I guess I needed to talk to someone. You see…I'm afraid. I've never been more afraid in my life. I don't know if I'm afraid of losing, because if I do I'll get to see mum and dad and Sirius again. But I don't want him to win either and hurt my friend. But I'm afraid if I win that they…that they won't love me anymore for killing someone."

At the thought he feels the sting of tears and tries to choke back a sob. " But I was hoping You could do me a favor. Because…because I kind of think You owe me. I've tried to be a good person and do what the prophecy says and I think that should count for something. So I want You to Please watch over Ginny. I don't know what I'd do if she were hurt. And watch over Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. Even Percy, the git.

And Luna," he adds as an afterthought, "And maybe help her find some more friends, because she deserves a few. And a snorkack. I don't really know what one is, but I guess if anyone would it would be You. I just had to get a few things off my chest. Thank You for listening I guess. Amen.:

He gets to his feet slowly, noting absently that his left foot has fallen asleep, and wonders if he should be jealous of said foot or not. He staggers toward the stairs, before losing his balance and stumbling into the table by the window, knocking everything to the ground. He begins gathering up the various sundries. Broken quill, few pieces of parchment, he doesn't know what that is, but it looks like something of Fred and George's so he's very careful with it, in the event it turns him inside out or explodes.

And the Bible. The one he had promised to read but never really intended to follow through on. It lies open on the floor and he bends to retrieve it. He glances down and reads from the book of Psalms.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,  
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;  
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

He's heard it before; who hasn't? But for the first time he feels comforted by it. He stand there in the moonlight, hugging the book to his chest A few tears escape but he doesn't brush them away. He whispers "Thank You," and wanders off to bed.

And for the first time, in a good long time, his sleep is untroubled.


End file.
